"He left."

Chloe's waiting for me when I walk into the hallway. It took me forever to regain my composure after Carter stormed out; I had to down the last shot before I could even open the door. I wipe under my eyes again in a feeble attempt to hide how upset I am.

"Did he say where he was going?"

"Nope. Didn't even take a coat with him. Just grabbed his keys and left."

Leaning against the wall, I tilt my head back and sigh towards the ceiling. "Well. I fucked that up."

"Big time, buddy. It was a shitty thing to say, I won't lie." Chloe's always been blunt, and she doesn't hold back now. "But he'll come back, eventually. He always comes back to you."

I don't respond. My head is pounding, both from the meeting and dehydration after all the alcohol and crying. Chloe didn't see his face before he left. I've never been a betting girl, but if I had to place one, it's that Carter's already halfway back to New York by now.

"I gotta go," Chloe adds, shrugging her bag further up her shoulder. "My wife is waiting none-too-patiently for me at the airport. I'll call you tomorrow?"

I nod and walk her to the door, reluctant to see her go. Just before she heads out, she pulls me into a comforting hug.

"I know you want to save Mark, but be careful, Amber. Don't ruin the good things in this life trying to get back to one that might not exist."

She lets me go and rushes to her car before I can respond. As I watch her back out of the driveway, I make a choice to focus on what I can control. As guilty as I feel about what I said, time isn't a luxury I can afford to waste. Because even with everything I've put together in the last few hours, there's still one question I don't have the answer to.

How do I get back? And is that something I can even control?

Ok, so maybe two questions.

I shiver as crisp morning wind cuts through the neighborhood. I'm about to duck back into Carter's house, but I get sidetracked by my own. It's strange standing here like an outsider looking in. I've never given the place much thought before, but with the craziness of the last few days, I find myself wanting to walk through the front door again.

Part of me imagines finding Ben waiting, a funny one-liner ready on his lips. Dad would look up from his morning paper, then ask for help on one of the harder crossword hints. Mom would yell, but I'd take it at this point. I'd do anything for some familiarity.

Absently, I take a step down the porch stairs — then freeze when my old front door opens.

I'm not ready to see someone else living there, not after the crappy morning I've had so far. I'm halfway back inside when a large figure steps into view, then looks directly at me.

"Mornin', sunshine!" Charlie calls across the lawn, raising a hand. He's so tall, he has to duck to avoid knocking into our overhead awning.

I stare back, dumbstruck; he's the last person I expected to walk through the door. I'm still trying to work it out when Charlie crosses the lawn and walks up Carter's driveway.

"How were you in my house?" I ask once he's within earshot.

Charlie leans over the porch, frowns at my question, then breaks into a smile.

"Ah, right. Forgot about the whole amnesia thing," he laughs, the irony not lost on him. "Man, that's gotta be frustrating."

"I think the term is 'annoying as fuck,' actually."

Charlie nods, but there's lingering amusement in his eyes. "You still own your old place. Carter suggested it instead of a hotel. There's a couple beds still upstairs."

"I own it?" I ask, genuinely surprised. I figured once Ben and I were out of the house, my parents would sell the place and go their separate ways. "Why aren't Carter and I staying there then?"

"Don't really know, to tell you the truth." He eyes the house quizzically as if it'll answer for him. "When he first offered, I asked the same thing and got a pretty vague answer. He just said you have strong feelings against staying there."

With everything that's been going on with Mark, the mystery of my family's absence has fallen to the wayside. I've been putting off worrying about it so far, but learning that I refuse to walk into my own house brings it all rushing back. My stomach fills with dread as I count how many days until Ben's arrival, but I shut down the thought as quickly as it starts.

Focus on what you can control.

"Were you gonna head out like that?" Charlie asks, raising an eyebrow at my pajamas and lack of coat.

It brings into focus just how cold it is outside. Wrapping my arms around myself, I usher Charlie into the house and close the door firmly behind him.

"I wasn't planning on it due to the whole 'no license' thing, but since you're here..." Charlie's timing couldn't be better. With Carter MIA, I'm at a major disadvantage as it is. Now that transportation is no longer an issue, I can work out what my next move should be. I have an empty timeline to fill, for a day I can't remember, and an unknown amount of time to do it. Added bonus, the consequences for every move I make are literally a matter of life or death.

Gotta love those odds.

"I'm at your service, m'lady," Charlie says, bowing at the waist.

"Music to my ears," I sing, smiling for the first time all day. "Let me just change and we'll head out."

"Where are we headed?" Charlie calls as I bound up the stairs towards Andrew's room.

I stop when I hit the top landing, coming to a decision on the spot. If there's one thing hours of Law and Order reruns have taught me, it's where any good investigation begins — the scene of the crime.

"Any chance you remember how to get to Chloe's side of town?"

It takes us forty five minutes to reach Darren's neighborhood, plus another five to get down his private street. It's more like a winding road, weaving through dense copses of trees before ending in a circular driveway. In the middle sits a large fountain, the basin barren for the winter months. Though most of the foliage is dead, I can imagine how it looked that night. The trees would've been full, cutting off the house from civilization. The party would've been invisible to anyone who didn't know it was here — ambulances included.

Charlie lets out a low whistle as he parks. "Damn, that is one big house."

I only nod, craning my neck to see the house in its entirety. It's massive, making Chloe's look like nothing more than a cottage. The exterior is chiseled brick, showing off its age in a timeless way. A large porch wraps around the front of it, stopping just short of the four car garage with a black Beamer parked out front. I'm thankful to see at least one car; it's not like I could call ahead to check that someone was home.

"Old friends of yours?" Charlie asks. I glance over the seat and find him staring as well, but instead of awe, his gaze holds subtle disdain.

I mentally kick myself as I recall the story about his last wealthy employers. Maybe I shouldn't have asked him to drive me here.

"Not really," I say quickly. "Unless you count old high school drug dealers as friends."

"I don't," he replies flatly.

"Yeah, well, neither do I. Especially not this one."

When I don't make a move to get out of the car, Charlie clears his throat.

"Did you want me to come in with you?" he tries, adjusting his rearview mirror until he can see my reflection.

I have half a mind to say yes, but I know better. I didn't bother explaining everything to Charlie before coming over here, and having him with me would only be a distraction.

"No, I'll be alright. Trust me, I'm not trying to stay long."

Charlie looks like he wants to insist, but reluctantly nods. "Well, I'll be out here if you need anything."

"If you hear screaming, assume I need something." It's meant to be a joke, but from the scowl he gives me, it's clear he doesn't find it funny.

It's warmed up over the last few hours, so the transition from car to outside isn't as bad. The front stairs are steeper than they look, and by the time I reach the top, I'm gasping for air. Nice to know older me has stuck with our hatred for the gym — at least I'm consistent.

Still catching my breath, I ring the bell, then immediately regret it. During the long drive here, I forgot to come up with the reason for why I'm here. I doubt Darren and I have kept up since graduation, which makes finding an excuse challenging.

The lock clicking tells me I'm out of time, anyway. The door opens, revealing a young woman dressed entirely in black, wearing a name tag pinned to her shirt that reads: Mollie. Her thick blonde hair is pulled up and away from her pinched face.

"Can I help you?" she asks shortly.

"Well Mollie, that is a loaded question. I sure hope you can," I begin, stalling for time. "I was hoping to see Mr. Darren Wexler, please."

When I don't elaborate, she lets out an impatient sigh. "And what's the reason for your visit?"

"Wow, you've got all the million dollar questions, don't you. Well, Darren and I happened to go to high school together, and I was just hoping to talk to him for a minute—"

"All visitors have to call and make appointments to see Mr. Wexler," she cuts in. Mollie moves to close the door, but I wedge my foot in the entryway.

"Didn't I mention I had an appointment? Guess I should've started with that." My mind races until finally, an idea strikes. "I'm here on behalf of our high school. The ten year reunion is coming up, and they want to gather testimonials about where students are now. I'm sure he'd remember our plans if you reminded him."

It's a bold move, one I'm not certain will work. My fingers cramp at my sides from crossing them so hard as I wait to see if she buys it.

Her eyes squint. "What did you say your name was?"

"I didn't. Amber Blake."

Mollie eyes me a minute longer before relenting. She pulls the door open and steps aside, her only invitation to come in. I take it happily.

"Wait here," she warns. She disappears down a long hallway, her pumps clicking loudly the whole way. With her gone, I take account of the house's layout.

Main entryway, followed by an open living space. Spiral staircase leading up to the second floor. I think I see the corner of a countertop near the entrance to the deck out back. Maybe the kitchen?

It's not long before she's back, her shoes announcing her return.

"Follow me," is all she says before spinning on her heel. She doesn't check if I'm behind her.

We turn down a hall just before the stairs. I count three doors as we travel further into the house, all of which could lead to the basement. I'm itching to stop and open each one, but Mollie leaves no room for dawdling; I'm more winded now than I was from the steps. She finally stops once we reach a large mahogany door adorned with a plaque that reads, 'Study'.

"He'll see you now," she says, her only form of goodbye. Mollie shuffles back down the hall, grumbling as she goes.

"I'll miss you, Mollie," I call after her. She just keeps walking.

I wipe my palms against my leggings before walking into the massive office. A set of green, suede couches sit dead center, with a glass coffee table situated between them. Three of the walls are covered in floor to ceiling windows that bathe the room in sunlight. A large desk sits towards the back of the room, not a single paper or pen out of place.

And sitting behind the desk, flashing a warm smile, is Darren Wexler.

"Amber Hayes," he practically sings. "Well, it has been awhile."

My mind draws a blank. I mentally prepared to deal with the Darren I know, douchebaggery and all; instead, he seems genuinely happy to see me. He pushes back from his desk, comes around to settle into one of the couches, then gestures to the one across from him.

"Sit, sit," he insists, waving me over.

Still a bit stunned, I comply without a word. I figure as long as he's not kicking me out, I'm doing something right. Might as well go along with it.

"Sorry about Mollie. Hopefully she didn't give you too much trouble."

"Not at all. We're on the road to becoming fast friends," I deadpan.

Darren picks up on my sarcasm. "Yeah, I'm sure. She isn't the friendliest, but she's good at her job, which is why I was surprised when she got your last name wrong. My confusion only grew when she told me the reason for your visit."

I'm momentarily distracted by his changed appearance, something that never stops being weird. He's aged like everyone else, but in Darren's case, it's a drastic difference. Where he had been relatively fit growing up, now he's all sharp angles and hollow cheeks. Even still, he's not bad looking. The smile that seems stuck on his face makes him look somewhat handsome.

"Er, right. I'm sorry to just show up, but I didn't have a number to call."

Darren shakes his head and shrugs. "Don't worry about it. Not like I was doing anything else." He gestures to the empty office. "Besides, it's always nice to see a familiar face. How's Carter doing?"

"How do you know we're married?" I ask without thinking.

He frowns. "You were the last time I saw you in court. Has something changed since then?"

I blanche. When Carter mentioned I used to be an attorney, I never assumed Darren and I might have crossed paths. Not even a minute into this, and I'm already slipping up.

"Oh gosh, that's right!" I announce, smacking my forehead. "When was that, like a million years ago?"

This is how adults talk, right?

Darren chuckles, making me think yes. "I believe it was the Morales case, though they all blend in my head nowadays. I just remember you on the opposing team as always. I can't even recall which of us won that round. I guess it didn't matter once you relocated to New York. Bigger fish to fry up there, I'm sure." He pours himself a glass of brandy from the bottle on the table. Before he takes a sip, he raises his drink in salute.

I'm beginning to understand his excitement to see me. From the way he's talking, it sounds like we went toe to toe quite a lot. The fondness in his tone makes me think he appreciated the rivalry.

I try at a laugh, but it sounds more like a strangled cat. I clear my throat. "Right, well, Carter's good. Busy."

"You must be too, juggling cases in the city and working for... the school, was it?"

"Actually, I don't practice anymore, and the stuff for Susquehanna is more of a volunteer thing," I explain, thankful to have control of the conversation again. "Figure I didn't do much for school spirit back then, so might as well make up for it now."

"Well, you already know I took over the family firm once my father passed on," Darren swirls his drink, getting distracted by the contents, "but I've stopped practicing law myself and recently stepped down from my position. I'm in the process now of selling off the rest of my shares so I can funnel funds into the many charities I overlook. I'm sure that's bound to raise a few eyebrows."

It certainly raises mine. Of all the words I'd use to describe Darren Wexler, charitable wouldn't be one of them.

"I have to admit though, I don't understand why Susquehanna High would want to hear from me."

"What do you mean?" The Wexlers are one of the most influential families in town. Surely the school would want to feature the crowned prince?

He laughs lightly, something that seems to be a habit of his. He hasn't stopped smiling since I walked through the door. "Well, schools rarely care about the students that don't graduate."

And just like that, I'm thrown off track once again. I do my best to mask any shock; my memory loss has already made me slip up once, and I don't love the idea of clueing Darren in on my condition. I gotta bounce back before he notices any hesitation on my part. Time for the years I spent bullshitting my mother to be put to good use.

"Well, yours is a much more personal interview, actually," I improvise, struck with a stroke of brilliance. "You see, they're doing a memorial slide for Mark Anderson, and since everything happened at your party..."

I trail off when Darren's smile falters for the first time, then disappears completely. It's subtle, but the mood in the room shifts. "Of course. God, has it really been that long since that night? No wonder you volunteered. You guys were always so close."

My throat tightens against my will, but I swallow past it. I'll be damned if I let Darren upset me. No matter how nice he is now, he once found humor in Mark's pain.

"Part of it was for my own sake, yes. I guess I was just hoping you might remember something about where he was before it happened?"

Darren eyes me steadily with a look I can't read. He stands up from the couch and moves over to one of the windows. Leaning against it, he stares out towards the trees.

"That was the worst night of my life," he says thickly, the emotion behind it catching me off guard. "It's something I regret every day. I'm sorry, I'm afraid I won't be able to help you much. I've somewhat suppressed that time in my life. But I'll give you the same answers I gave the police back then. I never saw Mark at the party, much less before it. I really wish I did, though."

My heart drops to my stomach and sinks like a rock. I knew it was a long shot when I asked, but part of me still hoped for a more substantial answer. Instead, all I'm getting are weird vibes off Darren. Since when did the guy care about anyone besides himself?

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised," I say finally. "It wasn't like you two were friends."

"Still," Darren's eyes stay glued to the outside world, "I wish I could help."

"It's fine..." I trail off when a sound pricks my ears. The room has been silent minus us talking, but now, there's the faint ticking of a clock. It shouldn't be as distracting as it is, but it makes the hair on my neck stand on end.

I search the room for any clocks and come up empty. Darren's not even wearing a watch. The ticking grows louder until it's audibly noticeable, yet he seems unfazed.

Then, a thousand alarm bells go off.

That's how loud it sounds. In reality, it's a single bell, piercing the air at such a high decibel I have to smack my hands over my ears. It's deafening, and I can't stop the scream that rips through my throat.

"What's happening?!" But my question falls on deaf ears. Darren keeps talking through the chaos around us, but I can't hear a word. The pain has become too unbearable, and I squeeze my eyes shut in a silent prayer that it'll all be over soon.

Then— it stops.

The school hallways are completely empty, but I still hear kids shuffling along to classes, their voices bouncing off the empty corridors. I look down at myself and find my classic combat boots, favorite denim shorts, and yellow crop top with code-violating spaghetti straps.

The same outfit I wore on our first day of senior year.

"Just save me a seat at the assembly."

Mark appears out of thin air. One second he's at my side, the next Darren's pulling him away. It's the young Darren I remember, his eyes cruel when he glances back at me. Something about them makes my blood run cold; they're vacant, empty — lifeless.

Darren pulls him to the lockers just like before, but when I try to join them, my feet won't move. They're talking too softly for me to hear the conversation, but based on the tension in Mark's back, it's nothing good.

"Help me!"

Mark's scream ricochets off the metal lockers, but he doesn't move a muscle. His back is still to me so I can't see his face. He needs me and I can't reach him.

Over Mark's shoulder, Darren's gaze locks onto me like a weapon zeroing in on its target. He steps around Mark, then he's right in my face, crossing the hallway in seconds. I need more distance between myself and the look in his eyes, but my body doesn't listen.

"Are you okay?' The question is devoid of any true emotion, and his mouth quirks up in the arrogant smile he's known for. "I'm not."

The bell rings. Classes are changing. I blink and find them both gone.

I blink again—

And I'm back.

"Amber, are you okay?"

Darren is crouched down in front of me. He's older again, his look of arrogance replaced with one of concern. When I don't respond right away, he tries to lay a hand on my shoulder.

My body snaps back to me. I push away from him, jumping up from the couch like it's red hot. I don't stop until there's enough space between us that I can breathe.

"Amber—"

"I'm leaving," I announce stiffly, then cringe, "I mean, I just remembered the school needs this info by tonight. Can't be late."

Darren eyes me warily, but doesn't push the subject. "Of course. I'm sorry to have held you up. Hopefully you got everything you needed for the school?"

It hits me that I have no guise for notes, something I'd need if I were reporting back to the school. I nod along, hoping Darren hasn't put two and two together.

Darren calls Mollie back into the office. When she sticks her head in, she glances past me as if I'm not here.

"Mollie, would you mind showing Mrs. Hayes out?"

"With pleasure, Mr. Wexler." She pulls the door open wider and eyes me like I should already be through it.

I get halfway there before hesitating. I can't leave like this — not without asking.

"I know this is a long shot, but that first day of senior year, you pulled Mark aside. Do you remember what you talked to him about?"

It's subtle, almost imperceivable; if my focus wasn't on Darren's face, I might not have caught it at all.

But it's there — a twitch. Darren's calm facade cracks into one of suspicion before smoothing over again to a sympathetic smile.

"Can't say I do. Like you said before, Amber... we weren't friends."

Mollie clears her throat behind me, letting me know my time is up.

I don't linger any longer. The doubt coating my nerves is all the answer I need.

He's lying.